


paying dues to the dirt

by spock



Category: Point Break (1991)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Amnesia, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Domestic, M/M, Rough Sex, Sex, Sharing Clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-15 07:23:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21249611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spock/pseuds/spock
Summary: The cycle of rebirth is determined by karma, literallyaction. In the Buddhist tradition, karma refers to actions driven by intention (cetanā), a deed done deliberately through body, speech or mind, which leads to future consequences.





	paying dues to the dirt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elpollodiablo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elpollodiablo/gifts).

Shadows shift behind the curtain like the world's most boring puppet show. The doctor finally steps out from behind it after ten minutes that feel like an eternity. Johnny springs to his feet, twisting the incident report he's been picking away at for the past hour between his hands. He stalks over from where he'd been asked to wait, hiking the backpack hanging from his shoulder higher up his back once he reaches her.

"Uh, est-il," he gets the first bit out soundly enough, though he struggles to stick the landing, "like, réveillé?"

She blinks just the once, hard, and then says, "I speak English." Her accent is thick. Johnny would almost prefer they stick with French. "The man l'amnésie. Our test — indéfinie"

Johnny frowns and then thinks the better of it. He shoots her his best smile. "That's not how you say that in English."

A nurse comes by to hand her a file and she opens it, flipping through the contents. "The police, where?" she asks, dismissal coming through stronger than the accent. She doesn’t wait for his answer, wandering off to disappear behind another curtain.

Johnny rolls his eyes at her back. If it isn't a rich tourist, the Biarritz commissariat can't be fucking bothered. Shifting his shoulders, Johnny takes a deep breath and walks behind the curtain.

"Parlez vous anglais?" This at least he's mastered.

Or — he'd thought he had. Shocked laughter turns into a painfully wet sounding cough. Johnny stands there like a kook waiting for the asshole to catch his breath.

"I dunno," he hacks out. "Can _you_ speak French? Jesus."

"Bodhi," Johnny unfolds the papers and reads the name, "Fauvor. Congratulations on not drowning. Doc said you have amnesia — you got anyone that can come collect your jolly ass so I can clock out already?"

"Well, shit," Bodhi tucks the long strands of his fringe behind his ears and scratches a few times at the beard covering his cheeks. "I don't remember."

"Ha." Johnny sets his report on the corner of the bed by Bodhi's foot and scribbles _non_ in a couple of places. "At least you managed to keep what must be your charming wit." He raises his eyes to level Bodhi with a smirk and is thrown a little off his game to see the smile that's being directed down at him in return.

"I do alright." Bodhi coughs again and then sits up straighter in his bed. "So who are you then? Some kinda discharge nurse?"

Johnny's tempted to take offense, but it's mildly flattering to be thought of as someone that could pass any level of med school. "I'm the lifeguard that saved your ass, douche."

Bodhi's grin grows wider. "My bad," he says, shrugging. "With this warm bedside manner, I'm sure you can see why I'd assume you were a professional."

The man flirts as easy as breathing. Johnny turns back to his paperwork. "I managed to find your personal effects on the beach while the ambulance was bringing you in." Johnny flips his bangs back from where they've fallen into his eyes, gesturing towards the backpack with his head. "Do I have your consent to go through your belongings to ascertain where you're billeted?"

"Buddy, you've got my consent for a whole buncha things." Bodhi reaches out to touch him, fingers making so much contact with Johnny's arm that the motion goes from obvious to embarrassing in no time flat, though Bodhi looks anything but. His fingers settle on the strap of his backpack. "If you're up for it."

Johnny shrugs the bag off his shoulder and into Bodhi's hand, watching as he sets the ratty looking thing into his lap and undoes the zip. "You're cute." Johnny walks closer to the head of the bed so he can look into the bag too.

Bodhi's voice is distracted when he lobs back, "Good to know the feeling's mutual." He pulls out a notebook and a little leather billfold. "I was starting to get worried there for a minute, nurse."

Johnny snatches the wallet from him and flips it open. "It’s Johnny, you dick." There's nothing in it besides a couple bills and a Californian driver's license with Bodhi’s name. He throws the thing at Bodhi's face, forcing him to drop the bag to catch it. Johnny rifles through the pockets and comes up with a kitschy looking key emblazoned with a tag belonging to one of the B&Bs set up close to the beach, not far from where Bodhi tombstoned in the water.

A whistle rings out sharp from between Bodhi's teeth. "Well done, detective." Johnny's eyebrow twitches. It's distracting enough that Bodhi manages to snatch the bag back off him, reaching inside to pull out a t-shirt and jeans.

They'd cut off the wetsuit Bodhi had been surfing in; when he shrugs off the gown they'd put on him instead, he's naked underneath. Johnny's eyes zero in on Bodhi's ass before he remembers himself and forces them up to the ceiling.

Not that Bodhi seems to care. He pulls his shirt on first, and it does nothing to cover his modesty. He finally seems to catch sight of Johnny over his shoulder, and the smile on his face leans more towards fond than anything else. He must have bought the jeans before he came to France; they hang loose at his hips once he’s got them up his legs and fastened.

"Now don't let my tough guy act fool you," Bodhi says. "I feel like I jumped off the Eifel fucking Tower and I've got the headache from hell. You wouldn't happen to have a car, do you?" There hadn't been any shoes near his bag on the beach, and so he stands barefoot on the hospital's tiled floor.

"Yeah, alright," Johnny decides. "My place is over on your side of town anyway."

* * *

Bodhi's fingernails keep catching at Johnny's scalp as he runs his free hand non-stop through Johnny's hair, his other arm braced across the length off Johnny's shoulders, anchoring himself as he thrusts, pace increasing as their breathing grows more frantic.

Johnny has to fight to keep his eyes open, drunk on sensation. The windows fogged up about fifteen minutes ago, back when they'd only been kissing. The world outside his car is a blur of lamps dotting the motorway, the occasional far-off whoosh of a car as it drives past the run-off they're parked at, their headlights catching on Bodhi’s hair.

He can feel it when Bodhi dips his head down to nuzzle at his spine, teeth sharp as they bite his shoulder blades, the both of them in sharp relief thanks to Johnny clutching at the backseat headrests, the only thing keeping his face getting mashed into the glass itself.

The breath catches in Bodhi's throat when he comes, suddenly quiet. Johnny's ragged breaths echo throughout the cab all on their lonesome, somehow louder now than it’d been when the both of them were gasping like they’d only just come up for air. Bodhi's hand slips from Johnny’s hair, dragging down the slope of his jaw until it covers his mouth.

Johnny bites at the meat of Bodhi's thumb, shifting his leverage to push himself back onto Bodhi's dick, reconstructing their previous rhythm. Bodhi works with him, hard thrusts forward, one after the other, with such precision and clear, concentrated effort behind them that it pushes Johnny right over the edge. The hand he's been using to work himself gets cupped around the head, catching the worst of it.

He has to work his jaw a couple times before he can speak again. "There's no place like home."

Bodhi laughs, wheezing. He turns affectionate, so much so that the hard fucking he'd just bestowed upon Johnny almost feels like it could've come from a different person. He kisses the still-stinging imprints of his teeth on Johnny's back, pulling out and using the newfound freedom to shift and turn to nuzzle Johnny's cheek. "French boys don't fuck like they do in the states?"

"There's something to be said for the sex you grew up with," Johnny says, nodding in agreement. He shoulders Bodhi away and escapes out from under him, sitting in the rear passenger's side seat, one of his long legs stretched out to rest over the center console, foot dangling into the driver's seat.

"Amen to that." Bodhi can't seem to keep his hands to himself, big palm settling on Johnny's thigh as he flops back to sit down himself. "Though, you sure do make a guy work for it."

Johnny tips his head up to the ceiling, closing his eyes. Bodhi's hand gropes its way up to Johnny’s lap, palming his softening dick. He's only been twenty-seven for a few months now; if Bodhi's willing, Johnny’s fairly certain that he'll rise to the occasion. "What are you doing out here anyway?"

That's his cue. Johnny lets out a sigh and pulls his leg back to rest in the footwell, leaning forward to fetch his clothes from the front of the car. "C'mon," he says. "Get dressed. I should get you back to your room."

"Damn." Bodhi sounds more impressed than anything. "Just like that huh? I thought they raised us better in California."

Johnny rolls his eyes as he finishes buttoning up his shorts, not bothering to put his shirt back on. "I'm from Ohio, asshole." Then he flinches, realizing he's been played.

"No," Bodhi's tone is thick with disbelief. "Not with that accent. You sure you aren't the one with amnesia?"

* * *

Bodhi invites Johnny in once they've pulled up outside the quiet street that his hotel branches off of.

"A nightcap," he offers.

"You shouldn't drink with a brain injury, dipshit," Johnny fires back, but he turns off the ignition and follows Bodhi inside anyway.

* * *

In the morning, Bodhi wants to hit the water first thing. Johnny rolls from where he’d been facing the floor-length windows overlooking the water, ignoring Bodhi where he's stood looking out at the surf, not a stitch on him.

The bruises from his fall the night before look even worse in the light of day, the backs of his thighs a deep purple that runs up the sides of his flank, up to the front of his chest.

"How are you even standing right now?" Johnny asks into his pillow.

"What was that?" Bodhi's weight settles on the edge of the bed, causing Johnny to roll a little towards the middle. "Was that French? Sounded way better than whatever that was yesterday."

Johnny ignores him.

"C'mon." Bodhi's hand slides into his hair, tugging at it in a way that sends sparks running up Johnny's spine. "I'm not saying I'm gonna get up on a wave. I need to get back in the water before some kinda psychosomatic fear kicks in, or whatever."

Johnny can't resist, though he knows he should. He rolls over onto his back and squints up at Bodhi. The bastard's hair reflects the sun like nothing else. "Psychosomatic fear."

Bodhi grins, ducking down to kiss him, chaste enough that he's able to dodge away before Johnny can swipe at him. "Or whatever," Bodhi agrees.

Scrubbing at his eyes with his fingers, Johnny knows well enough to spot when he's beat. "Yeah alright." He gets up and makes for the shower, trying not to feel too full of himself when Bodhi whistles at the sight of him. "You're embarrassing," Johnny says. He turns the water on and steps back to let it heat up, turning back to look at Bodhi. "You wanna know why I'm humoring you?"

Bodhi’s stretched out on the bed with his hands behind his head, looking all the world like he owns the whole fucking country, dick fattening up against his thigh obscenely. "Why's that?" He gives Johnny another one of his smiles. "You in love with me already or something?"

Johnny's never had a problem keeping a straight face, but it's especially easy now. "Ocean ate your board up, bro. Couldn't surf even if you wanted to."

Bodhi sits up fast — too fast, if the way he hisses and grabs at his side is anything to go off of. "Well fuck."

* * *

Johnny sees a lot of Bodhi.

At the beach, where Bodhi quickly seems to nail down the hours that he works. Where he bothers Johnny incessantly, annoying and needy, his injuries keeping him from venturing too far out beyond the shore.

"I've already saved your ass," Johnny tells him, not even entertaining Bodhi's latest attempt at getting him into the water. "Chill out, you fucking spazz."

Bodhi shakes the legs of Johnny's chair. "Maybe if you'd actually stayed the night," he shouts, though Johnny isn't altogether all that high up. The beach is pretty much deserted, the season all but finished, all the other tourists returning home and the locals off working at this time of day. Most of the noise is coming from the waves crashing out near the low tide. "I'd be too worn out to annoy you so much."

Johnny glares down at him and tells himself he isn't charmed by Bodhi's smile. "Or maybe you'd be in too good a mood to be so pissy."

After three days straight of breakfasts and dinners, Johnny begging off to sleep in his own bed. He'd told himself it was what he wanted, but the minute he'd laid down to sleep he'd missed the heat of Bodhi next to him.

It's possible that Bodhi isn't that far off about the source of Johnny's bad mood.

Arthur wanders towards them, come to relieve Johnny of his shift. He'd had a bit of a thing for Johnny, but it turned into a long-forgotten memory the moment Arthur caught sight of Bodhi.

"Bonne après-midi, Arthur," Bodhi calls, waving to him.

The minute he's close enough, Arthur runs a hand over Bodhi's unbruised side, unabashedly feeling him up. "Salut," he calls it up to Johnny more than he says it to Bodhi, the touch a greeting itself. "Vous guérissez bien, ah, Bodhi?"

The breathy way Arthur says his name never fails to get on Johnny's nerves.

Johnny hops down from the chair, landing close enough to where they're standing that Arthur steps back to avoid a potential collision. Bodhi doesn't shift an inch.

"Bonjour." Johnny grabs Bodhi by the shoulder and pulls him away, ignoring the pleased look that slips onto Bodhi's face as he trails along easily. "Au revior."

It's a little past the usual hour most everyone with a set schedule has gotten off work, enough time for the locals to have gone home and changed from their work clothes into something more comfortable. The first of them are settling in on the beach now, coming to catch the last vestiges of the sun.

They walk until they have a small stretch to themselves. ”So," Bodhi lets the word hang in the air. Johnny scratches at his stomach and pretends that he doesn't see all the attempts Bodhi's making to catch his gaze.

"Found some tickets in my room last night."

Johnny licks his lips. "No shit? Where too?" he asks. "You never struck me as the planning-ahead type."

Bodhi's smile doesn't reach his eyes. "Don't seem to be the sticking around type neither."

* * *

Eventually Bodhi gets around to asking Johnny to come with him.

Johnny tells himself he doesn't consider it.

After a couple of weeks go past, it's easy to convince himself that it's the truth.

* * *

The lease is up on the little flat he's rented himself. He can't remember why he'd even come this far south.

Sainte-Marie-du-Mont had been a wistful desire to feel closer to his father in the wake of his life blowing up stateside, the career he dreamed for himself going up in flames. He hadn't expected to be extended a work visa, a lifeline to keep him in the country.

He hadn't expected Bodhi.

Johnny heads to the beach one night, the moon so full and low that it may as well be the middle of the day. He steals a board from the life guard's station and paddles out, letting the tide drag him out far enough that he can't see the shore any longer.

The rain starts just as he's hit the worst of the incline going up Queen Street. It wasn't meant to start pouring until at least an hour from now, another masterful showing in just how good the fucking weather report does him each day.

Johnny's borrowed coat is baggy enough for him to tuck the grocery bag he's carrying under it as he continues his miserable trek against gravity, the wind kicking up just right so that the water comes at him horizontally, no escape to be found.

It stops just as he reaches the apartment building, cutting off like a faucet's been turned. He dribbles pitifully in front of the elevator, pressing the button and hoping against hope that it's already at ground level. After about twenty seconds Johnny gives that up, too waterlogged to suffer the wait. He takes the stairs two at a time.

Even soaked-through and tired as he is, Johnny reaches the eighth floor in record speed. The front door to Bodhi's apartment is cracked open, the echo of his obnoxious music drifting out into the hallway.

Johnny kicks the door closed once he's inside, shrugging off Bodhi's coat and dropping it in a heap on the floor to drip itself dry.

Bodhi's spread out on the couch reading. "You get my feijoas?" he asks, sounding a million miles away, eyes glued to the page.

Johnny lobs the bag across the living room, managing to catch the top of Bodhi's bare chest and the lower half of his face.

"Grow the fuck up, Utah." He stuffs a bookmark into the spine and jumps up, fruit spilling onto the ground.

Bodhi watches him as he reaches behind his head and yanks his drenched t-shirt off, tossing it towards the bathroom. Johnny toes off his shoes next, kicking them back towards the door and then using one of his feet to step out of his socks; the water managed to reach them too. This fucking country. "Bite me," he lobs back at Bodhi, hands going to the fly of his pants.

A hand connects with his chest, solid and with enough force behind it to send Johnny into the wall behind him, back connecting with it painfully.

"Oh yeah?" Bodhi asks. "Why do I get the feeling that you'd like that?"

Their kisses have grown rougher as Johnny's travel visa gets closer to expiring, the plane ticket that exhausted the last of his savings practically burning a hole on the bedside table. Bodhi bites at his lips and Johnny gives back exactly as good as he gets.

His breathing picks up when Bodhi pins one of his arms over his head, Bodhi's strong hand pressing bruises into the skin of Johnny's bicep, his face ducking down to breathe in the scent of him.

* * *

He's sick. Bodhi insists that it's a sign from the universe, or some shit.

Johnny's pretty sure that it's a sign that people shouldn't run around town in the rain for out-of-season fruit.

It’s one of those agree to disagree things.

Johnny’s had all of an hour's sleep, the bed too hot with three entities in it — Johnny, Bodhi, and Johnny's fever. One of them probably should have moved to the couch for the night, the sheets damp from both of their sweat.

"You're gonna get sick next." Johnny's voice sounds like a tire fire.

Bodhi's too-warm shoulder is on top of his. It feels good, a reassuring weight. He could get used to it. Has gotten used to it.

Who’ll look after Bodhi once Johnny’s gone?

He sits up and swings his legs over the side of the bed, curling in on himself as a shiver overtakes him, the cold air in the apartment flash-chilling the sweat still dotting his skin and causing goose-flesh to break out all down his legs.

The bed shifts as Bodhi moves into Johnny's space, an arm snaking out to wrap around his middle. Johnny blinks a few times, willing the fever-haze of his eyes to leave so that he can focus. He traces his fingers along the planes of Bodhi's face, memorizing the soft, grainy texture of his beard, the slope of his nose.

"Lemmie see."

Johnny dips a hand into the neck of his sweater, pulling the thermometer out from under his armpit. He hands it off to Bodhi without reading the temperature off it.

Bodhi frowns when he sees whatever it says. "Coward." He speaks the word around the thumb Johnny's slipped in his mouth.

That's a new one. "How's that?" Johnny asks.

Bodhi's answer is to bite into the web of flesh between Johnny's thumb and pointer finger, enough force behind it that it makes Johnny hiss.

He shifts to the side, climbing onto Bodhi's back and shoving the sheet from where it's tangled between them, forcing it out of the way. He fishes blindly beneath their pillows for the bottle of slick they keep there.

He's inside of Bodhi in no time at all, hands planted straight on the bed to keep him balanced as he jackrabbits his hips. The muscles in Bodhi's back look sculpted, flawless and smooth, his skin practically glowing even though it's officially more winter than autumn and Johnny hasn't seen the sun in about a week anyhow.

His nose is stuffed, forcing him to breathe out of his mouth if he doesn’t want to die in the middle of this, sucking in great hulking gasps that drown out the blissful grunts of Bodhi's that Johnny enjoys so much.

"Fucking —," he doesn't manage to finish his sentence, sucking in another breath and grinding hard into the firm swell of Bodhi's ass. "Goddamn it." It's nonsense, not directed at any particular thing, but he can feel his frustration mounting, pissed off and frustrated at a million different things.

Bodhi's hand appears at his hip, his arm contorted at an odd angle to manage it. His fingers grip hard there, grounding Johnny in the moment with the sharp string of his fingernails cutting into Johnny's skin.

* * *

The one meal Bodhi's able to make with some regularly decent consistency is breakfast.

He sets a bowl of oatmeal in front of Johnny, the last of the cheap fruit they'd managed to snag from Countdown chopped up and arranged semi-artfully at the top. Bodhi sits across from him at his tiny dining room table, two Weet-bix steeping in a bowl in front of him, waiting for them to absorb enough milk to become semi-edible.

Johnny takes a bite and tries to hide his grimace.

Bodhi's never been one to miss much. "Oh, what now?" he asks.

Johnny spoons up another mouthful and holds it up over his bowl. Bodhi leans across the table to try it. Johnny takes care to hold his gaze. Bodhi chews for a second and then stops. Johnny smiles at him.

They keep the honey on top of the refrigerator; Bodhi gets up to grab it, setting it down hard at Johnny's elbow without another word.

* * *

"Why'd you even come?"

Johnny would rather they didn't have an argument right before he left. He's too sick to give back as good as Bodhi would give anyway. "I just wanted to make sure you were alright," he says.

It takes some of the wind out from Bodhi's sales. "You ever think about how I'll be after this?"

He's been avoiding that entire line of thought, but it sure was kind of Bodhi to ask.

The SkyBus turns onto the street then, and Johnny reaches down for the bag at his feet. Bodhi swats his hand away and swings it over his shoulder. They board in silence. The coach is near-empty beyond a woman sat right behind the driver and some kid spread out across the entire back row.

Bodhi hands the driver the pair of tickets they'd gotten from a newsagent and takes a window seat near the back door. Johnny sits next to him.

He wishes that'd they'd managed to hit up Piha in the final weeks before that morning, but the weather had been too bad, even Bodhi seeming to have learned from his mistakes enough not to risk it.

Johnny wishes for a lot of things.

They clear the last of the stops in the city, pulling onto the highway for the final push towards the airport. Bodhi's legs start to bounce, his face turned resolutely towards the window.

Johnny's got on two of Bodhi's sweaters, not having brought near enough winter gear, too cheap to buy his own even when that became apparent, Bodhi's clothes fitting him perfectly well. They smell of Bodhi, and Johnny closes his eyes for a moment to focus on the scent, his head still a stuffy mess that he's too tired to pick apart.

The driver calls out that they're nearly there, and Johnny opens his eyes, watching as the empty stretch to the side of them slowly changes into the arrivals and departures of the airfield.

Bodhi's got such a serious look on his face that Johnny can't help but smile. Bodhi must see it out of the corner of his eye, since he turns to look at Johnny for the first time since they stepped onto the coach.

"What time will it be when you land?"

"Something like three in the afternoon yesterday."

Bodhi hums. "Fun," he says. "You ever dream of being a time traveler as a kid?"

Johnny hadn't, but it makes sense that Bodhi had. Johnny's interest in changing the past hadn't struck him until he was well into his twenties.

"That'll make it, what?" Johnny asks. "Eleven here?"

The bus starts to slow down, pulling into the little kiosk with the line’s logo. Bodhi gets up and slings Johnny's duffle over his shoulder, stepping up to the door.

All the people that joined them along the way start filing out once they open, heading to their gates. The bus clears out in about thirty seconds flat. Just as quickly, all the new arrivals step on, looking tired but excited to be at their destination.

Bodhi once said that Johnny wanted him so bad that it was like acid in his mouth. That everything moves in cycles.

After about a minute of standing by himself, Bodhi wanders over to where Johnny's still seated. The doors close and the driver pulls into the flow of traffic again, heading back towards the city center. Bodhi retakes his seat at Johnny's side, knocking their shoulders together. "See, Johnny," he says, smiling out at the window rather than looking Johnny's way, "Always knew that deep down inside that think-too-much head of yours that you were one radical son of a bitch."

**Author's Note:**

> It was so fun playing with a film that so whole-heartedly embraced its clichés to deliver on the character front; I hope you'll forgive me doing the same. Yes, I was crafty with the Alternate Canon tag and this is actually a canon-compliant _Bodhi Lives_ divergence rather than an _Different First Meeting_ AU. The real question is — just how legit is Bodhi's amnesia? Only rereads and your detective skills will tell. (And yes, the last name is a _My Own Private Idaho_ nod, my fellow Keanu stan.) 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the tricky wrapper on this cheesy treat ♥


End file.
